Friends Like These
by By the Sounding Sea
Summary: Mark and Roger reminisce about how they became friends, and the group learns about the things that really matter. Rated T for some violence and a little swearing from Collins.


**Hello, hello. I wrote this in twenty minutes whislt watching the best thing ever created, RENT. Thank you for your genius, Jonathan Larson. Anyways, I shall keep things short. Some things to keep in mind: I do not own RENT, reviews make me smile (if you write me a review I will love you forever and always), and La Vie Boheme is the best song ever written. So, while you read, I'll stand in this here corner and eat this box of crackers and sing La Vie Boheme to no one. To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing...**

* * *

It was just a normal day in March. Mark was sitting by the window in the loft he shared with Roger, fiddling with his camera, and Roger was lying on the couch, strumming his guitar, trying to play something satisfactory. All of a sudden, though, Roger stopped playing.

"Hey, Mark," Roger said.

"Yeah?" Mark said without looking up.

"Why are we friends?" Roger asked. Now Mark looked up.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Just, you know, we're so different and everything," Roger said.

"You don't remember how we became friends?" Mark asked.

Roger smiled. "No, I do. In kindergarten."

"Yeah, you were—"Mark was interrupted by the telephone ringing.

"SPEEEAK," said their answering machine. Collins' voice came on.

"Hey, Mark, Roger. Angel and I are here. Oh, wait, Maureen and Joanne are walking over here now. Anyway, throw down the key, we'll come in." Mark grabbed the phone.

"Hey, Collins," Mark said. "Maureen and Joanne are there, too? Huh. Alright, I'm throwing down the key." Mark hung up, grabbed the key to their loft, and walked out onto the balcony. He ran straight into Mimi.

"Hey, Mark," Mimi said, walking right passed him and into the apartment.

"Uh, hey, Mimi," Mark said. He threw the key down. Collins caught it and the four went inside. They walked into the apartment a few moments later.

"What's going on, bitches?" Collins asked as he walked through the door.

"Apparently, Mark and I are having a party," Roger said. "Everyone's here unannounced. Where's your invitation?"

"We need an invitation now?" Angel asked, pretending to be hurt. Roger smiled.

"Well, you might as well sit," Mark said.

"Yeah, Mark and I were just in the middle of story time," Roger said.

"Huh. What story?" Mimi asked.

"The story of how we became friends," Mark answered. Maureen squealed.

"Ooo, I want to hear that story!" she cried. She sat down in one of the chairs, leaning forward, excited.

"That's a story I'm interested in," Joanne said.

"Yeah. I mean, you guys are total opposites, but you're, like, inseparable," Mimi said.

"Sit down. We'll tell you all about it," Roger said. Everyone found a place to sit and waited for one of the two friends to begin the story. That person was Roger.

"Okay. So, we met in kindergarten…"

**XXX**

Mark Cohen was only four when he started kindergarten. He got to start earlier than the others because he had learned to read, write, walk, talk, and use the toilet by himself by age three.

Roger Davis was a different story. He was six when he started kindergarten. The school made him repeat preschool because he kept beating up the other children.

Mark Cohen was separated from everyone else in his class as well. He was the shortest one in this class, shorter than a four year old should be. His height, or lack thereof, and his black glasses that were too big for his small face set him apart from his classmates. He was okay with that, though. He would much rather spend his time reading than playing with the other kids.

Roger Davis was a violent kid, everyone knew it. At six, he was taller than all the other children, especially the scrawny, pale little blonde who was always reading. His clothes always had rips and he liked to wear leather jackets even then. His face almost always had a scowl on it. The other children never wanted to play with him. But he didn't care. He liked breaking crayons and teasing anyone who came close enough to him to be able much more.

Both boys were so different and yet exactly the same. They were both very anti-social, though for very different reasons. The last thing they wanted to do was become friends. Becoming friends was unimaginable.

But then one day, the teacher who was called Miss Sara forced both boys to sit and talk to each other during recess, since neither of them never talked to anyone else. She decided it was time for a change.

Mark figured it was best to do what the teacher said. "I'm Mark."

"You're a four-eyes, Mark," Roger said.

"What's a four-eyes?" Mark asked..

"That's when you look stupid because you wear glasses," Roger explained. He had his arms crossed across his chest, telling everyone to stay away.

"That's not true," Mark said.

"Yeah it is," Roger said. "You're a freak."

"How come?" Mark asked.

"'Cause you like to read and you have glasses. You're a nerd," Roger said.

"No, I'm not," Mark protested.

"Yes you are. You're a nerd," Roger taunted. He saw tears start to collect in the small boy's eyes. That was weird. He never made people cry without using his fists. And he didn't like seeing Mark cry.

"Hey, wait, Mark. Don't cry. I was just kidding. You're not a nerd. I'm sorry," Roger said. And he actually meant it. He was really sorry. He usually only apologized when he was forced to, and he never really meant it. But he was really sorry this time.

Mark wiped the tears away from under his glasses. "That's okay," he said.

"You have any friends?" Roger asked.

"No," Mark responded.

"Wanna be friends?" asked Roger.

Mark thought for a moment. "Okay."

**XXX**

"_That's_ how you became friends?" asked an appalled Mimi. "You teased him about his glasses?"

"Yep," Roger said. Mimi looked at Mark for confirmation. He adjusted the glasses that started it all.

"Yep. He called me a four-eyes," Mark said.

"Sometimes teasing's a good thing, " Roger said. "It leads to good stuff."

"You got any other good stories from when you were kids?" Collins asked.

"There was that time when your dad beat me up," Mark whispered to Roger. He didn't know if Roger would want him to tell that story.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Roger said.

"It wasn't your fault," said Mark.

"What wasn't his fault?" Angel asked.

"When my dad beat him up," Roger answered.

"Roger's dad beat you up?" Joanne asked Mark.

"Yeah," Mark said.

"Why?" Angel asked.

"Do you mind if I tell them?" Mark asked Roger. "Or you can."

"Yeah, I'll tell. See, my dad like to beat up me and my mom. And then one day Mark came over to my house…"

**XXX**

One day after school when Roger and Mark were in the seventh grade, Roger asked Mark to come to his house. Mark, of course, accepted this invitation. But the second they opened the front door of Roger's house, they saw his dad. And he was pissed.

"Where've you been, boy?" he demanded Roger. "And who's the geek?"

"I was at school, and Mark's not a geek," Roger said.

"You arguing me with?" Mr. Davis asked.

Roger vehemently shook his head. "No, sir." But Mr. Davis didn't care. He punched Roger in the eye. Mark's eyes grew wide.

"What are you doing?" Mark cried. "Leave him alone!"

Mr. Davis _did_ leave Roger alone. He moved over to Mark and punched him in the eye, sending his glasses flying. Mark fell to the ground. Mr. Davis started to pound Mark until he was black and blue and bleeding, with a few kicks thrown in, too. Roger tried to pull his father off Mark.

"No, no, no! Leave Mark alone! Dad, leave Mark alone!" Roger yelled. Roger pulled his father's shoulders away from Mark as far as he could, which was about two inches.

After a few minutes, Mr. Davis stopped beating Mark and went into the living room to watch football. Roger ran over to Mark, who was trying to sit up.

"Mark! Mark, are you okay? I'm so sorry!" Roger said.

"It's okay," Mark said.

"What? No it's not okay!" Roger cried. "Here, you're eye's swollen shut. I'll get some frozen peas or something so the swelling will go down and open again." Roger scurried off and came back a few moments later with a bag of frozen corn.

"We didn't have any peas," Roger said. He handed the corn to Mark, who put it on his eye. After a few minutes, he could open his eye again, but it was nice and purple.

"I can't see," Mark said.

"Give your eye a second to fully open," Roger said.

"No, no," Mark said. "I meant—"

"Oh, you meant you need your glasses," Roger said. "Got it. Hang on." He crawled across the floor until he found Mark's glasses. He brought them back to Mark. Mark gingerly slid his glasses onto his swollen nose.

"Sorry, Mark," Roger said.

"No, it's okay," Mark said. "Here, help me up." Roger helped Mark up from the ground. Roger picked up Mark's bag and they left the house, walking nowhere in particular.

"You okay?" Roger asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Well, I don't look fine, but I'm fine."

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah. It hurts a lot," Mark said. "You can't live there, Roger."

"Got to," Roger said.

"No. My parents might let you and your mom stay with us while you're finding another place. You and your mom can't live there," Mark insisted.

Roger didn't say anything for a moment. "You think we could get away from him?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I know you can," Mark said. The two changed direction and headed toward Mark's house. When they got there, they knocked on the front door. Mrs. Cohen answered. She gasped when she saw her son.

"Oh, my God! Mark, what happened to you?" she cried. She noticed Roger's black eye as well. "What happened to both of you?"

"My dad," Roger said.

"What?"

"My dad beat Mark up. He was gonna beat me, but Mark told him to leave me alone, so my dad started to beat Mark up. I tried to pull him off, but I couldn't. I'm really, really sorry Mrs. Cohen," Roger said.

"Oh, my God," Mrs. Cohen said again.

"I'm so, so sorry," Roger said.

"No he's not, Mom," Mark said. "He shouldn't be sorry, because he didn't do anything wrong."

"Boys, come inside," Mrs. Cohen said. They quickly went inside the house. Mrs. Cohen shut the door.

"Are you furious, ma'am?" Roger asked.

"No, Roger, of course not. Well, no, that's not true. I am furious, but not at you. Absolutely not at you. I'm furious at your father. How could he hurt two innocent boys?" Mrs. Cohen said.

"Roger and his mom need to get out of that house, Mom," Mark said. "Can they stay with us until they find another place to live?"

"Yes," Mrs. Cohen said without hesitation. "Absolutely." She looked at Mark. "Oh, my God."

"Sorry, Mom," Mark said.

"No, no, no," Mrs. Cohen said. "Neither of you are going to say that you're sorry again. Neither of you have anything to be sorry for. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we're both fine," Mark said.

"That's a relief," Mrs. Cohen said.

"I'm…nothing," Mark said, remembering that his mother that told them not to say they're sorry.

"Roger, Mark, go upstairs and relax. I'll call your mom. She'll bring your guitar and some clothes and come here, okay?" Mrs. Cohen said. Roger nodded and the two boys went upstairs.

**XXX**

The group of friends didn't say anything for a moment.

"Wow," Angel finally said, breaking the silence.

"I had no idea," Mimi said.

"Me neither," said Maureen.

"That makes two of us," Collins said.

"Is Mark the only one that knew?" Joanne asked Roger.

"That my dad liked to beat me up? Yeah," Roger said.

"Well, you turned out okay," Angel said.

Roger snorted. "That's debatable." He chuckled. Mark followed. Suddenly, the whole loft was full of people who were all inappropriately laughing.

"It's a debatable statement for all of us. Well, except Joanne," Maureen said.

"Oh, I don't know," Joanne said. "After all, look who I hang out with." They all started to laugh again.

"No, I think we're all okay," Mark said. "Just anything but typical. And maybe we're not doing exactly what our parents hoped their children would be doing."

"Like attempting and failing to write a song," Roger said with a smile.

"Like dancing in a strip club," Mimi added.

"Like being a drag queen drummer on the street," said Angel.

"Like being a professor who can't get hired because of his theory of actual reality," said Collins.

"Like being a filmmaker who can't seem to make a film," Mark said.

"Like being a protesting performer," Maureen said.

"Like being a lawyer," Joanne said. "Wait. Actually, that's exactly what they wanted me to do." Everyone laughed.

"But we've got our own little family here," Angel said. "And nothing could ever or will ever split us up."

"Angel's right," said Mimi. "We all might not have a lot of money, but we've got great company. No, so much more than company. Actually truly like a family. Well, a family that likes each other." Everyone smiled.

"I like the way we are," Maureen said. "I don't think my parents like who I am or who my friends are. But I like the way we are."

"What way are we?" Collins asked.

"Bohemians."

"Viva la vie boheme, huh?" said Mark.

"Ooo, Mr. Fancy French Boy!" Roger said. Then he smiled. "Yes. Exactly."

"I like that, Mark," Maureen said.

"Yeah, me too," Angel agreed. "La vie boheme."

"The bohemian life," Mark translated.

"Nice."

"Viva la vie boheme!" Maureen cried vociferously. The others covered their ears. Maureen giggled.

"Viva la vie boheme!" yelled Mimi.

"Viva la vie boheme!" Angel said, a little quieter.

"Viva la vie boheme," said Collins.

"Viva la vie boheme," Roger said.

"Viva la vie boheme," Mark said. They all looked at Joanne expectantly.

"Viva la vie boheme," Joanne said with a smile. The rest of them cheered.

"You're one of us now, honey," Maureen said, hugging her partner. Everyone smiled. Joanne looked a little worried.

"You don't think you can handle la vie boheme?" Maureen said.

"I have no idea. You guys are a little psychotic," Joanne said.

"Of course you can, sugar!" Angel cried. "Come on, now. Say it again. Louder."

"Viva la vie boheme," Joanne said, a little bit louder than the first time.

"With feeling!" Angel cried.

"Viva la vie boheme," Joanne said, louder.

"Come on, Joanne, like you mean it," Roger said.

"Viva la vie boheme."

Mimi shook her head. "Not good enough."

"VIVA LA VIE BOHEME!" Joanne cried, desperate to get the rest of them off her back. They smiled and cheered and clapped.

"VIVA LA VIE BOHEME!" all seven of them cried in unison. Everyone looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.

_"This is what life is about,"_ Mark thought. _"It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, successful or a failure. All that matters is the people you get to share your life with. And I've got it pretty good."_


End file.
